Tommy Kapai: The Beehive's game of drones

The Beehive. Where the honey, money and power is.

The tide of politics in this country is shifting quicker than a Papamoa pipi bed and nobody bar the pipis themselves know where they will end up in three weeks.

Just when we think we have a handle on it and start twisting our hips in the sand to the tune of Chubby Checker the political pipis have bolted in another direction and the chase to find them is on again.

It all makes for great guessing and political theatre - unlike any election before it - with almost daily cameo appearances by characters with names not even Disney could dream up.

Who needs Watergate when we have shut the gate or in our case guess which gate the opposition is going to pour through over the next 20 days before we work out who will be in charge of our country for the next three years.

Picking that gate just got a whole lot harder over the weekend now that Judith Collins has had her own political career crushed (as predicted by this columnist three columns back) and now finds herself keyless in Iwiland where many, if not most, feel she belongs.

So how did I come to know Crusher had to go? Easy peasy when you have to make a choice in who to believe.

I know Nicky Hager, not well, but when you spend time inside a wharenui at a tangi with someone as I did with Nicky here in Tauranga you get to see them for who they are, and there is no question Nicky is a man of honour and truth who I would believe in a heartbeat.

So how do you explain all this Dotcom, Whale Oil, Crusher Collins, Political pipi bed shifting to your 9-year-old daughter when she asks as my girl did?

The only way I know how is to make a game of it.

So that is what I have done as we drive around looking at billboards and listening to B.S.

The jellybeans on behalf of Crumpy were on me.

"It's a game that some are really good at and the rest guess their way through. It lasts a lot longer than cricket. Three years instead of three days and the name of the game is to get inside the house they call the Beehive, because that is where all the honey, money and power is. You can say and promise the moon and beyond but if you aren't at the table making the decisions then there is no honey for the people you are representing."

"Will the man with the scary eyes be inside the house, Dad?" she asks.

"Looking more likely but he wants to take away Maori's voice by taking away Maori seats so we wait nervously on him and his eyes to show their true colour. At least our local could-have-been candidate Larry Baldock pulled away and stood alongside Maori just like Thomas Bracken the author of our national anthem did."

"What about that nice Maori man with the flash suit and nice smile, Dad?"

"Your Nanny and her sisters loved Winitana. They backed him and baked cakes for him because he said what they wanted to hear and that's the art of talk-back politics, darling. They call him the Kingmaker and that kolynos smile of his just got a whole lot whiter and wider over the weekend."

"So who else will be inside the house Dad?" she asked.

"The answer to that is the same as the answer to where will we find the pipis at Papaomoa in three weeks' time."

"Okay, I get it now. Inside the house is where we need to be, outside you can jump up and down and do the haka but you don't get a say, eh Dad?"

"True, that's my girl!"

If I have learned anything about politics these last weeks besides B.S. and jellybeans, pipi beds and getting into bed with bloggers, it's the wide open gate of ignorance that so many have to the game of politics, and what it takes to get across the line and into the big house that holds all the honey.

I am sure a few more will be stung into silence and right now the bees are circling in a feeding frenzy.

broblack@xtra.co.nz